


A Sign

by gingerteaandsympathy



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Multi, Tea Drinking, between dimension-hopping rose and her new friend, just a bit of a chat, nonbinary aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerteaandsympathy/pseuds/gingerteaandsympathy
Summary: The dimension cannon deposits Rose Tyler in the sky over London, and she is caught by none other than our favorite angel, Aziraphale. Tea-drinking ensues.





	A Sign

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is the result of a prompt on tumblr, from an anonymous user who requested a Rose and Aziraphale fic using the phrase “How can anyone not be afraid of love?”

The tea was getting cold.

Aziraphale could have miracled it to the perfect temperature — just cool enough not to scald the tongue, just hot enough to warm the china around it, enticing any fingers in need of comfort to wrap around it, encouraging any hardened hearts to soften. (They weren’t  _ entirely _ without the capacity for temptation.)   


Only the pair of them had been sitting for some time now, and the angel was already doing quite a bit of supernatural heavy lifting. By the look of things, the woman in front of them was one mild breeze from fainting dead away, and they  _ still _ weren't entirely sure why, so they were doing their utmost to sustain her  _ without _ plunging her into some sort of restorative coma.   


And anyway, she hadn't touched her tea, so it felt like a bit of a waste.

"I'm sorry," the woman finally said. She managed to drum up a wan smile, but Aziraphale saw right through it. They knew a façade when they were presented one, for all Cro— that is,  _ everyone _ thought they were obtuse.   


She swallowed. "I'm actually not sure how…  _ why _ I'm here."

"Yes, well," the angel agreed. "Your appearance was rather… spectacular."

"Thanks for catching me, by the way. I don’t normally just... fall out of the sky like that.”

Chuffed, Aziraphale brushed the comment aside (and carefully stowed it in their breast pocket for when that niggling self-doubt started to creep back in) with a wave of their hand and an ebullient smile. "It was nothing, dear girl."

"Rose," she offered, hands finally enveloping the cup, which was just barely holding on to the last hints of heat. A good sign. Aziraphale pulled out all the stops and reheated the whole thing, even going so far as to send inviting curls of bergamot-scented steam wafting upwards.

Let it never be said that they lacked elegance.

"It's lovely to meet you, Rose. I am Aziraphale."

One eyebrow arched as she lifted her tea to her lips, and the expressive face suddenly reminded them of someone they knew.

"Bit of a mouthful," Rose said. A sip of tea and she was already looking a bit restored, Aziraphale happily noted. Bit of color back in the cheeks. They could detect a sense of humor lurking in the corners of her mouth, once again reminding them that they and Cr— that is, they had a meeting later that day and they’d have to think up a few snappy comments beforehand, lest they be caught off-guard by the barbed sarcasm that flowed from that forked tongue...

Catching themself, they returned their attention to the human woman before them, who so  _ clearly _ needed their help. “Well, you know how it is with family names.” They took a sip of their own tea, giving a gentle sigh at the fresh, tangy citrus flavors.  _ Nothing like a good cuppa, _ they thought.  _ Except perhaps sushi, fresh, with extra wasabi... _ “But please, tell me… if you don’t know how or why you’re here, what  _ do  _ you know?”

She seemed to consider her answer. “I know that I’m looking for someone. And that if I’m here, he must be close.” Aziraphale watched her complexion empinken further, lending her a faint, empyrean glow. Her eyes were distant, and as warm as the tea in her hands. The angel’s shoulders loosened as they felt the stirrings of yearning suffuse the air around them, and they couldn’t help the delicate smile that came over their lips. It felt as if they’d just settled into a hot bath.

So it was love, then.

They’d already had an inclination to help her — something about the tension in her neck from too much travel (great distances, she’d crossed) and the bags under her eyes (long nights, she’d passed) told them that she  _ needed  _ it. But the pure, radiant devotion that gathered around her like a luxuriant feather tick was enough to utterly convince them. This girl was in love. And she needed their help.

“Might I be of some help in finding him?” the angel offered.

There was a twinge, then. A crack in the aura. “Well, I have this… device, you see, that’s supposed to help me find him. Trouble is, he’s a traveler, and a hard one to track down.”

“No forwarding address?”

Rose smiled softly, and Aziraphale felt the hazy tendrils of fondness stretch out… towards  _ them _ . It felt rather pleasant, to be the focus of affection and not just near it, and not unlike how they felt when—

“No,” she said, quiet voice disrupting his thoughts. “No forwarding address. And I’ve been looking for… feels like ages, you know?” Her knuckles were white on the handle of the teacup. “It’s mad, but sometimes I wish I’d get a sign. Something to tell me I’m close.”

_ Aziraphale.   
_

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, as usual, faint as the buffering of distant wings. It lingered interminably on the ‘z,’ and sent a little shiver of anticipation up the angel’s spine.

_ Not now, demon. I have a guest. _

_ Finally decide to break that 6,000 year dry spell? _

Aziraphale did not want to dignify the comment with a response. However, they did need to say  _ something. _

_ She needs my help. Just wait outside, if you please. _

_ As you wish, angel. _

They heard a low hiss of laughter, and then the sound of falling feathers eased.

The angel’s gaze slid up to meet the woman’s, but she was looking out the window, brow furrowed. “Did you hear something?” she muttered, almost to herself. She glanced down at her necklace — a lumpy, unfashionable sort of thing — as if expecting something to happen. “Sounded like… like a bird or something.”

They blinked. “I don’t know what you heard,” Aziraphale said carefully, ducking around a lie. Their eyes softened when Rose took another sip of tea. Her entire body seemed to curl around the cup, as if the heated china could leech out every bit of exhaustion and pain. And it could have, had the angel across the table taken the trouble to make it so. But as much as they wanted to help, the woman’s love was bound up with the pain, and to remove one would destroy the other. They felt it, as much as they felt that she was nearly to the end of her journey.

“Are you frightened?” they asked suddenly. They weren’t sure where the question came from — only that it seemed to bubble up from somewhere inside, as things often did when they were approaching the heart of important matters. Aziraphale wasn’t much for following one’s instincts, but occasionally, one had to follow the divine direction of things. The plan, ineffable though it may be.

“Of what?”

“Of finding him. After all this time.”

Rose looked up at them, eyes full of knowing and years beyond what her human body could contain. “No,” she answered. “I know him. What’s there to be frightened of?”

“Well,” the angel hemmed and hawed for a moment before uttering, completely unexpectedly, “how can anyone  _ not _ be afraid of love?”

It was perhaps the most transparent question Aziraphale had ever asked a human being. They weren’t used to giving voice to such outbursts, and that much must have been apparent on their face, because Rose looked over with warm amusement. “Afraid of love?” She chuckled into her teacup. “No, I don’t think so.” Her brow wrinkled in thoughtfulness before, quietly and with great weight, she continued. “I don’t think love and fear can coexist. Fear stems from inequality. And without equality, without a true exchange, there can be no true love.” She spoke the words with conviction, her eyes taking on that dreamy quality again. Her warm aura expanded, enveloping the entire front room of the flat, spilling out onto the street through the windows, and Aziraphale felt a little shiver run down his spine. He wondered if the demon Crowley could feel it, even outside. “I used to think the Doctor — that’s what he’s called — I used to think we were so different. No chance of equality, of love. But I was wrong.” Her eyes slid to the angel, and he noticed that something appeared to be… occurring.

Her eyes shone. As did that odd necklace she was wearing.

“Everyone’s the same, I think. Everyone needs love,” she said, her voice a benediction. “No matter how invulnerable they might seem. You can always get in through the cracks.”

“My dear girl,” Aziraphale pronounced, “you are  _ glowing. _ ”

Rose smiled, and the glow intensified. “It’s just the cannon. Pulling me back.” She stood up and backed away from the table — in fact, she was being quite careful to avoid all furniture, Aziraphale noted. “Must’ve lost the signal, or decided it was a false flag. Happened before.” Her smile tightened. “No doubt it’ll happen again.”

“You’re nearly there,” the angel said, somewhat prophetically, or as prophetically as they could manage. “You’ll find your Doctor soon.”

The woman seemed to believe him, if her soft smile and sudden swell of fondness was anything to go by.   


“Thank you for the tea, Aziraphale.”

And then, she was gone.

The demon Crowley chose just that moment to burst through the door in a flair of hissing and lanky limbs and red hair. “Sakes alive, angel, are you nearly fini—  _ oh _ .” The demon cast their eyes over the table setting. A china pot, and two teacups. Both full, and steaming pleasantly. A little cup of sugar — the fancy, cubed kind. And Aziraphale, looking as if they’d seen a minor miracle.   


“You made tea,” Crowley said.

The angel blinked, and then suddenly, smiled. “I did. I thought you might like some. Please, my dear, do sit down.”

Crowley obeyed.


End file.
